Searching for Serenity: the 22nd Hunger Games
by fleetwoodgirly
Summary: Six unlikely outer district tributes tell their tale of adventure, courage, sacrifice, and friendship. In a cruel world of suffering, six young tributes are forced to learn the ways of life in the limited time they are given. They weave a story through the ups and downs of a hard life they live. Hope shines through when searching for an impossible feat: serenity.
1. Chapter 1

**Gideon Cabot, District 10**

The rising sun welcomes me as I rise with it. Bright and early, I dress in my best clothes and wipe a damp rag over my face. We don't have a mirror in our shabby, run-down shack that we call home, but I can see my reflection in the water at the bottom of the barrel. We keep this barrel outside during the winter to collect rainwater and use it all during the summer. It's a thousand times better than the murky water that comes from the district well.

My little sister, Wren, toddles into the kitchen and rubs her eyes. "Where's Pop?" she asks innocently.

"He went down to the stables before the sun came up," I reply, wetting the rag again. "Come here."

I wipe her tiny, round face until it shines. Wren smiles her cheesy smile and I can't help but return it. My five-year-old sister is the last gift we received after Mom passed. I love and cherish her every day because she's the last piece of my mother I will ever have. Wren is also the most sweet, adorable child which makes her all the more lovable.

Wren giggles and tugs at my sleeve. "Why are you so pretty today, Giddy?"

"Today's an important day." I wish it wasn't. Reaping Day is the worst day ever for the districts of Panem, second only to the real Games.

"Why?" Her big brown eyes glance up at me, framed with thick lashes. I finish cleaning her face and set down the rag, picking up the grain sack.

"Because it is. Here, eat some breakfast." I hand Wren her small serving of dry oats. She munches gleefully away, happy and ignorant. I can't help but envy her. She has seven more, long years of childhood before the real, cruel world will be thrust upon her. I don't know what I'd give up for just one of those years back.

I tell Wren to put on her cleanest clothes before I quickly head off to the stables. Pop is in Pinky's stall, milking her. Pinky is the healthiest cow in these stables, so we milk her regularly and share the sweet milk with all our neighbors. In District 10, we are all a big family. Not by blood, but by pain and suffering. We all hold the weight of the world on our shoulders, so we try to share it and spread it out evenly. No one in 10 lives lavishly. We neighbors barely scrape by together.

Pop glances up from the tin bucket. "Mornin', Gideon," he mumbles quietly. My pop is a soft spoken man. Very different from my mom. You could hear her singing, loud and proud, miles away. I love that she wasn't afraid.

I wish I wasn't afraid.

"I have to get to the Square to check in," I say. "Will you take Wren later?"

Pop nods. I'm near the barn doors when I hear him call out to me. I turn around and he gives me a shy grin. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

I smile back. "Thanks Pop." And I'm out the door and racing to the Square. The faster this is over, the faster I can get back home to Wren and Pop.

Other kids my age form a line at registration. District 10 holds its reaping in the Town Square, which is always littered with hay from carts that pass through town. Smaller kids play on the hay stacks while the older kids sign in. I check in with the Peacekeeper and walk briskly to the 12-year-old section. This is my first reaping, suffice to say, and my name is in the lottery four times. One is mandatory, three others is for the three people in my family that need the extra food to survive the cruel winter. Most of my tesserae actually goes to the cows and sheep my family is responsible for taking care of.

I stand in my designated area and wait.

**Emmie Rey, District 10**

Our District's escort hops around the stage for a minute before the mayor is ushered to the podium to speak. He talks in his monotony voice and then the bright pink escort takes his place.

"Ladies first!" she squeaks. Yeah, yeah. We know.

Her chubby pink fingers take their precious time picking a tiny piece of paper. They finally shoot in and grab one. She hops over to the microphone and squeals gleefully, "Emilia Rey!"

Me.

Take a deep breath. One foot in front of the other. Eyes forward and chin held high. Facial expression blank. Don't trip on the stairs. That's what my older brother, Mickey, taught me to do if I ever get picked. He told me to stay strong, even when I feel like falling apart. He says it's not worth it to fall apart because it takes too long to pull yourself back together, if you can. He says being strong is no more than showing how well you hide the pain.

"Volunteers?" the escort asks.

No one steps forward. Predictable. Mickey is out of the reaping, and even if he was, he couldn't volunteer for a girl. Against the rules.

"Boys next!"

My eyes scan the crowd. I see a few of the girls looking at me in pity, some in relief. They are sorry for me, but not sorry enough to save me. I don't feel any vengeance towards them. If I was faced with the same decision, I know I would've done the same thing. One girl's bad luck shouldn't cost you your life.

The pink escort prances across the stage to the boys' lottery pot. She plucks a name from the bowl and skips back to the podium. Her cheeriness dampens my sour mood even more than I thought possible.

"Gideon Cabot!"

Same as me, a 12-year-old is chosen. Just our luck, isn't it?

When I see his face, a wave of recognition washes over me. His name rang a bell, but now that I see him, I remember everything. Gideon is in my class at school. His home sits right next to the stables. His little sister is the cutest little girl around, leading the lambs in endless circles when grazing in the meadow. Gideon gives his food rations to the horses. I remember seeing him sneak the grain down to the stables at night. Once I saw him do that, I began giving my extra rations to the pigs my family takes care of. They haven't been this plump in years, thanks to my tesserae.

"Shake hands, kids!"

I turn to look at Gideon, my new district partner. Neither one of us breaks down in tears or tries running away. We save that for later. Right now, sponsors are watching ever so closely. I won't screw up any chances to get out of this alive. It is a game, after all.

We shake hands and the crowd lightly claps their applause.

"Congratulations to District 10's newest tributes, Emilia Rey and Gideon Cabot!" the escort screeches in her painfully loud Capitol accent. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."


	2. Chapter 2

**Ethan Xenotime, District 9**

The tears won't stop streaming down my face and onto the velvet furniture. I don't care if I ruin the Capitol's perfect chairs by bawling my eyes out. I'm glad. I hope the room floods from my tears and I drown.

Anything to keep me out of the arena. I survived the reaping two years before this, but now they've chosen me. The shy, quiet, cowardly kid with no friends or confidents. The kid who lost practically his whole family to the Games.

Nothing can save me. No sponsor can or will want to support me. I am the scrawniest boy in my grade. I'm a weakling. I'm the underdog that will never prevail. Suffice to say, I lost all hope a long time ago.

Then why is it that I'm weeping so much? If I don't care for my life as it is, why should I care about wanting to live?

I don't know. It would be for the best if I died in the Games. I have no family left. No friends who care. I have lived in the district orphanage for the last five years of my life. They don't care about the kids there. I survived by stealing. Stealing morsels of grain from the fields when I worked. Stealing is punishable by death, but none of the Peacekeepers care much for us kids. They watch the flighty adults more than the young ones. They figure we are scared enough by the arena of death that threatens us each and every year.

No one comes to say good bye to me. My hour meant for good byes is spent wallowing in my own pity. After some consideration, however, I come to terms with my fate. I force myself to quit weeping like a fool. No one likes a crybaby, especially not a fourteen-year-old crybaby.

At last, a Peacekeeper opens the door and orders for me to follow. I obey. He leads me to the District 9 train station. We ship all the grain out to the Capitol from here. Now they ship me out, along with the girl tribute, Savannah Shelton. I feel especially bad for her because this was her last year in the reaping. She will die at eighteen unless the odds are in her favor. Now that I think of it, the odds normally don't side with District 9. Our one and only victor is evidence of this.

I step onto the platform and the train doors slide open. Peacekeepers armed with heavy artillery usher me and Savannah onto the shiny train. Our peppy escort, whose name I have forgotten, shows us our rooms and the dining car. She tells us to come to dinner later and rushes off in another direction. I am left alone in my room.

I look outside the window until the grain fields and big blue sky disappear completely behind us. Then, exhausted and sorrowful, I fall asleep to the gentle rhythm of the train's wheels.


	3. Chapter 3

**Calico Stocking, District 8**

The train is surprisingly soothing to my strained nerves. My escort, however, is not calming in the least.

"You're going to absolutely _love_ the Capitol," Mia gushes to Axton and me. We remain silent. She blabbers on. "It's lovely! You poor district children are at such disadvantage. I feel so bad and that's why I decided to become an escort." She pats my hand sympathetically. "To help you kiddies."

"They don't need your 'oh how dreadfuls'," a voice says from behind. I turn and see District 8's beloved and honored victor, Glorianna. She sits down across from me, next to Mia. She winks at me. "They got plenty of people back home to do that for them."

Mia doesn't dare contradict a victor. Even though she's technically above Glorianna in the social structure because she's a Capitol citizen, Mia has a certain level of respect for Glorianna. Everyone does. Being a victor isn't easy. And becoming one is most definitely _not_ easy.

Axton speaks up for the first time. He's quite a bit older than me, since I'm thirteen and he's seventeen, but he doesn't act like it. We're both tributes; we're both in the same, deadly boat.

"So, what should our strategies be? Lots of tributes play a certain angle for the audience."

"Yeah," I agree. "Should we try to stand out or stay under the radar?"

Glorianna ponders this for a moment. Then she eyes us curiously. "What do you plan on showing the Gamemakers, if your strategy was to stand out?"

It's a simple enough question, but I can tell this is where Glorianna decides what she wants to do with us. This is where she decides if we are worth her time or not.

"I am fast," says Axton. "And I can use a knife. I used to cut lengths of cloth for the factory."

Glorianna nods solemnly, then glances at me.

I glance out the window, not knowing what to tell. I have no special physical abilities. My job for the district was to keep track of inventory. I'm a wiz with numbers. That's about all I got.

I meet Glorianna's gaze and think better of my actions. Why should I trust anyone here? I'm in the Hunger Games now, and I've seen plenty of betrayals in the past. If Axton gets in with the Careers or another alliance and he knows my strengths, then I could be toast. If I want to survive, I have to play it smart.

"I'm not good at much. The factory manager just had me do the simple jobs. Thread handler. I'd give all the sewing ladies fresh yarn if needed. I made water runs for the machine guys. That's all I know."

Glorianna's brow creases in disappointment. I played my part well. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Axton relax a bit. I'm one less competitor for him to deal with. Or at least that's what he thinks. But watch out Panem, because you've got another thing coming.

Calico Stocking is going blow your socks off. And that's a promise you can count on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Seraphina Madrid, District 7**

My stylist hates me.

She hated me from the moment we locked eyes. It's probably jealousy. I'm not anything special, but I know for a fact that anyone looks better than that old fish. I have a clear face, long dark hair, and cerulean blue eyes. Classic, simple beauty. I'm not vain, but I can recognize inner beauty when I see it. I'm not insecure, unlike my stylist.

Can someone please explain to me why these Capitol people feel the need to change their natural features so drastically and horrifyingly?

They disgust me, plain and simple.

At least my district partner, Oakley, looks as terrible as I do. I don't know why I care, but it really irritates me that these stylists make us dress up like trees every single year. Just because we are from District 7, the lumber industry, doesn't mean we should be trees EVERY SINGLE YEAR. I wish I could unleash my truckload district profanity of them. That'll show them to show a little more respect.

You mess with 7, you mess with me. So you best not mess with my district.

Oakley and I are hurried from the prep area to our waiting chariot. Two large horses whinny and snort impatiently. We climb aboard and wait for our cue to go. In the distance, I see District 1's chariot sparkling and shining like gems. Go figure.

The audience grows louder and louder with each pair of tributes. A plastic leaf from my headdress falls into my face. I angrily tear it off. As soon as District 6 trots off, our horses spring to life and leisurely ride behind.

The Capitol crowd is astonishing. I feel like I'm trapped in a rainbow. Colors are everywhere. Glittering, glistening, and shimmering away like stars in the sky. My hand shyly waves to the few spectators paying attention to us boring old trees. I see Oakley in my peripheral vision, rapt in awe and stunned speechless. Just like me.

At the end of the parade, the horses circle around to face where the president stands at his grand balcony. He stands and steps forward. He's a new president. Real new. President Snow, they call him. He came into power only about a year ago. I chuckle inwardly. If he only knew how we spoke of him and his magnificent city back home in the deepest parts of the District 7 forest…

But he doesn't know. And he may never know or care. I'm just a skinny seventeen-year-old girl doomed to her death. Who cares what she thinks?

"Welcome, tributes," he begins, his youthful face looking as arrogant as ever. He continues to welcome us, acting as if he enjoys our company. In reality, he's itching for the days to come when we will be thrown into the arena to die for his entertainment. This fact doesn't exactly warm him to me.

_Keep calm, Seraphina, _I remind myself. _He will meet his ugly fate someday. _

That day has yet to come. I know it will. I may be dead. I may not be. That doesn't matter. All that matters is that someone who is brave enough and someone who has sacrificed enough will come along and ignite the spark that will be set.

I am determined to do that one thing. Panem's districts have the potential. I know it and I want to prove it.

I will set the spark. The spark that, when ignited, will quickly catch fire and spread revolts throughout this poor, ugly country of slaves. Someday, the districts will be free. Someday, the Capitol will fall. The Capitol relies too heavily on the districts for it to thrive for long.

When that someday comes, you best be prepared.

_Keep calm and carry on._


	5. Chapter 5

**Sterling Roscoe, District 6**

Saying the elevator ride was awkward would be the understatement of the century.

It was the most uncomfortable silence I've ever experienced.

The Careers got off early. For most of the quiet ride, it was the outer districts in the enclosed space. I got a good look at the other tributes. I've always been quite observant. It made me valuable in the transportation business back in District 6. When my boss came to say good bye, he said he was sorry to lose such a good kid so early on. He didn't even sound sad for my doomed future. I never liked him. Frankly, I'm glad I got out of that hell hole this early. They over-worked us and paid us horrible wages.

Sad realization of the day: I'm sort of happy I was chosen for the Hunger Games.

I must be really screwed up in the head.

Like I was saying, I saw the other tributes up close. I noticed some potential allies pretty quickly. The District 7 girl looks strong; I'll bet she'll last longer than most. The District 10 boy seems decent. He'd be a good ally. District 3 kids are always super smart, so they are definitely on my ally radar. I'll have to wait until training to really get a good reading on any of them. But one thing's for sure: I'm not going into this game alone.

I've seen it plenty of times over the years. The results are repetitive. The tributes with the most protection, whether it be allies with strength, skill, or intelligence, always come out on top. That's why 1, 2, and 4 always win. They train like crazy, or so I've heard, and then volunteer when they are eighteen and at the top of their game. It's smart. They know what they're doing.

As for the rest of us, we struggle more due to the fact that the Capitol doesn't favor us like they do in the Career districts. If District 6 tried to open an academy to train potential tributes for the Hunger Games, the president would have a fit. Hundreds of people would be executed publicly and the academy would be burnt to the ground, along with the kids' dreams of surviving a Games.

The elevator reaches the 6th level. Nell and I get off and wander around until our escort finds us and shows us where we will be staying. I've never had a whole room to myself before because I have always shared a room with my siblings.

The same siblings who didn't even care to volunteer for me, their youngest brother. Whatever. I'm fifteen. I can take care of myself. I don't need them.

Dinner is extravagant. The lengths these people go to pamper their tributes is unbelievable. I feel almost bad coming to their incredible city, eating their extraordinary food, and using their numerous resources because chances are, I'll be dead in a week.

I almost feel guilty for hating them. Then I remember how they ruthlessly killed my father before I was even born. Then I remember the sacrifices they forced my mother to make when her tiny wages couldn't support our family. I remember all the whippings we have received for not working fast enough or efficiently enough. I remember all the nights when I would fall asleep with my stomach growling.

I never knew my father. I never knew the joy of a true family. I never knew the true people my family are. Suffering has changed them, molded them into hard people that I know they aren't. Now I never will know who they truly want to be. I will never know who I want to be.

The Capitol took that all away from me. The idiot rebels took that away from me when they rebelled. They thought they knew what pain is. They didn't. They were selfish. Their rebellion led to my father being dead, my family turning their backs to me in my time of need, and my imminent death.

I dig into my meal, trying to forget about every evil person who has caused my life to suck the way it does. The rich taste of turkey makes it easy to forget my own name. Nell discusses various things with our mentor and escort, but I don't bother. The odds have never been in my favor. Why try?

"What do you plan to do in training, Sterling?"

I reluctantly look up from my plate. Nell is staring at me quizzically. I sigh, setting down my fork. "I don't know. Survival skills, maybe. I'm not going to try to learn too much," I confess.

Her brow furrows. "Why not?"

"Because the more I try to cram into my head, the less I will actually remember. Besides, my main goal for training is to score some allies." I stuff my mouth with strawberries, sending her a message that I don't want to talk about this with them.

"That's smart," our mentor, Jefferson, says. "I see your reason."

I snicker. "About time someone did."

Nell rolls her eyes at my sarcastic comment and starts eating. She's alright. Maybe she will make a good ally. She is trustworthy. That's what's most important in an alliance.

We eat the rest of dinner in silence until the perky escort dismisses us for bed. Once my head hits the soft, cool pillow, my eyelids feel like a thousand pounds. I didn't realize how exhausted I was after that ridiculous parade. I fall asleep at once.


	6. Chapter 6

**Jetta Minato, District 3**

"Jetta! Jetta! Wake up, sweetie! Today's training day!"

Escorts. My new worst enemy. Fruity, fake, and furiously annoying.

Trudging out of bed, the cool air blasts my face. I shiver immediately, wishing I could just crawl back in bed and stay there for the rest of my life. Goose bumps form on my arms. Did that ignorant escort turn the air conditioning on to get me out of bed?

I'll show her.

Using all my strength, I rip the bed spread out from under the mattress. I wrap it around my thin shoulders and the warmth returns as quickly as it escaped me. I hurry down to the dining room where the rest of my team is waiting.

To my delight, the escort shrieks and drops her fancy silver utensil when she sees me sporting my cozy bed spread around my shoulders. I can't hold back my devilish grin. Serves her right, trying to freeze me to death in the earliest hours of the morning.

"What in the world do youthink you're doing?" she squeals widely.

"Trying not to freeze," I answer simply, avoiding her tawny glare. I succeed.

Erin, our mentor, giggles lightly and slides a plate a toast towards me. I nibble on it while the silly escort blabbers on about manners being important, no matter the circumstances.

"Manners, huh?" I ask. I know what will drive her through the roof.

I use the pearly white tablecloth to wipe my jelly-covered mouth. Then I reach across the table, not skipping a beat, and knock both the salt and pepper containers over. Just then, my district partner, Thomas, walks in, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He sees me, with my cape wrapped securely around my shoulders, making a giant mess. Instantly, he's runs into his room and grabs his bed spread. Together, we run around the room with our capes, jumping on the expensive sofa and pretending to be superheroes.

So what if it's childish? So what if I'm sixteen years old and too old to be a superhero?

How much time do I have left to be a child?

The escort would have strangled us if she hadn't have been held back by Erin.

"Leave them," I hear Erin say. "You weren't sent to your death as a kid. Let them be kids while they can."

The escort backs off for a minute or two. But then she calls us back into order.

"Alright, enough jumping around now. It's time to get ready for training, Jetta, Thomas."

"That's Super Jetta to you!" I say, racing past her with my cape flowing gloriously behind me. I run into my room and slam the door closed. Fun time's over. Now it's time to

get serious.

* * *

**A/N: There's the first six chapters. I'm excited already! Review and tell me what you think. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Gideon Cabot, D10**

Emmie and I are briskly escorted down to the Training Center. Once everyone arrives, the top trainer, Wyatt, talks briefly to us about the difference stations and the importance of survival skills. We when are dismissed to wander about, the Careers immediately jump to action at the weapons stations. I ignore them completely, walking straight to the camouflage station.

The District 9 boy follows me. "I'm Ethan," he says, sticking his hand out.

"I'm Gideon," I answer, shaking his outstretched hand. We chat about various things while playing around with the paints. We both found the tribute parade hilarious.

"Did you see me? I was grain!" Ethan shakes his head in disgust. "It was most definitely _not_ real. I couldn't stop sneezing!"

"They probably thought you were insane," I add. "A District 9 kid being allergic to grain!" We laugh and joke about our idiot stylists until Wyatt calls us in for lunch. I hadn't realized how much time we spent at the camouflage station alone. I'll have to get around to the other stations later. At least I know how to blend into a boulder now.

I would imagine the worst thing about living in the Capitol is having all this food and never knowing which to eat and what to not eat. All of it looks amazing. How am I supposed to choose? I guess there's only one way. Eat one of everything.

Once I'm done filling my plate to the brim, I find a place to sit. Ethan waves me over to where he's sitting. Emmie and her newly acquired friend sit with us. I think she's from 8, but I'm not sure.

Sure enough, she originates from the textile center of Panem. "My name is Calico. I'm from 8."

We introduce ourselves and dig in. I notice I'm not the only one who piled more food than they can handle onto their silver plate. Everyone eats in silence until I notice something strange. My eyes wandered to the Career pack, for whatever reason, and a new addition caught my eye. Quietly sitting next to the buffest tribute here is the tiny District 11 girl.

I nudge Ethan in the arm and silently point to the table. His face mirrors my confusion. We lean in and tell the girls.

Whispering, I say, "Did you two see the 11 girl do anything special today?"

Emmie shakes her head but Calico nods. "She passed the laser challenge in less than a minute. Didn't touch a single laser."

"What's the laser challenge?" Ethan asks me. I shrug, just as clueless.

"The laser challenge is a trial where you have to maneuver around different obstacles without touching a laser, which are shooting across the room all over the place," Calico says. "You take a knife in with you to stab targets that pop up from the ground. They," pointing to the Careers, "watched the whole thing."

"They must have offered for her to join their alliance," Emmie whispers.

I sigh sadly, looking down at my last remaining bread roll. "She won't last long with them."

My new friends look at me strangely. "Why do you say that?" Ethan asks.

"Have you seen these kids? They're brutal," I reply. "As soon as it's down to just them, they'll turn on each other so fast it'll make that girl's poor little head spin. They'll take her down as soon as she becomes too heavy a burden to carry."

Just after I say this, Wyatt calls us to attention. "Lunch is over, kids. Let's get going."


	8. Chapter 8

**Ethan Xenotime, D9**

I split off from everyone else after lunch, deciding to try the knife station. Originally, I thought that dying in the Games would be best. But last night, I had an epiphany. I realized that if I win and come home, the Capitol would provide extra food and other supplies for my district for a whole year. So many people in 9 die of starvation every year. If I am victorious, it could benefit thousands of people in need. Now I realize that dying in vain isn't the only way out. If I'm going to win, I should do it for my district.

Dozens of knives are spread out on the table. I carefully observe each individually before choosing a blade known as a katana. The expert knife trainer teaches me the correct way to wield it if encountered from behind or to the side. I practice with a dummy until the trainer says I can spare with him.

He picks up a small sword and spars with me. I pin him to the ground numerous times. "Nice job, 9," he says grinning. His praise gives me a sense of hope for the future. I haven't felt that in so long that it feels foreign.

I meet back up with Gideon, Emmie, and Calico at the fish hook station. Emmie is by far the best out of the four of us. She made a tiny hook from a rubber band and a broken piece of glass! I can barely make a hook out of plain old wire. After that, we hit the fire starting station and the building shelter station.

With Day One finished, I think I learned a lot. A few of the tributes stay a few minutes late to speak to their trainer, including me. The shelter guy, Max, took a liking to me and taught me how to collect rainwater with a certain type of tent. Max is a good guy.

The elevator isn't as crowded tonight as it was after the tribute parade. It consists of the District 7 girl, the District 11 girl who is hanging out with the Careers, and me. The 7 girl is one of the older kids, and can handle an axe well. I remember her throwing axes in training. She has one heck of an arm.

The 11 girl is a mystery to me. I see both me and 7 giving her glances of confusion. Why would she want to be a part of the Career alliance? Doesn't she know they are all blood and gore? She must. So why did she choose to join?

My gaze meets the axe-throwing girl's gaze for a few seconds. She gives me a look as if to say, 'Don't trust her. Don't trust anyone.'

And then she's gone to the seventh floor. It's just me and 11.

The elevator travels only two more levels before I am let off. Before the doors close, I turn around to face the girl. She's so small and young. Vulnerable. I can't leave her without some kind of warning.

"Be careful," I say. She nods. The doors close. "Crazy girl," I mutter under my breath. But what's a Career if not crazy?


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. **

**Calico Stocking, D8**

Training days fly by quickly. Today we show our learned skills privately for the Gamemakers so they can give us a training score. I have a feeling I know what I'll do. I was decent at starting a fire, and shelters are easy to set up, so that's what I'm planning on doing.

I've never been patient. Waiting is difficult for me. It always has been, but I learned to cope with it. Counting by sevens, finding patterns in the wood benches, and daydreaming keeps me occupied until they finally call my name. I spring up and hurry to the door.

I became so accustomed to the Training Center being loud and filled with mindless chatter that the silence comes unexpectedly. I mentally berate myself. I'm in the Hunger Games. I should be expecting the unexpected.

The Gamemakers watch like hawks but don't say a word. I introduce myself, "Calico Stocking, from District 8."

Some nod in consent, but most just continue to stare. It's a bit uncomfortable. I shake it off and keep moving.

Organizing some kindling wood and dried brush together in a pile, I get to work quickly. Skip the matches. Straight to the flint. I'll get a better score that way. Anyone can start a fire with a match.

In one fluid motion, my hand strikes the flint against a special kind of rock and a flame bursts into life. The dimmed light in the room grows a bit brighter. The flame spreads rapidly, catching fire and blazing up the brush. My fire is set. I stomp it out and move on to the shelter station.

After successfully building a tiny shack, the Head Gamemaker, Annaliese Yvonne, dismisses me. "You are finished. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor." Why do they keep telling me that?

The next morning, the training scores are in. We tune in eagerly to see how the Gamemakers scored us. My stomach is full of butterflies. I start counting by sevens again to pass the time.

All the Careers scored high numbers, no surprise there. Most of the outer district tributes scored threes and fours. The District 7 girl scores an eight. That doesn't shock me either. She is the strongest and oldest tribute that isn't a Career. She has a good chance at winning.

"Calico Stocking," the announcer dictates, and I jump. Suddenly, my mind is whirling and I can't think straight. What if I get a horrible score and no one sponsors me and I am brutally killed in the bloodbath by some 300-pound monster?!

"Six."

Six!

"Wow!" Glorianna exclaims, her face lit up with a breathtaking smile. "That's even better than my old score. Well done, Calico!"

My escort, Mia, jumps in, too. "Excellent! Just excellent! I can get a sponsor with that! Marvelous!"

Axton congratulates me. "Nice job," he says.

"Thanks," I say to everyone.

"Axton Louis, four."

And we're back to waiting. Some of the other kids I trained with did well, too. Ethan got a five, Gideon got a six like me, and Emmie received a 7. She must have shown off her amazing fish hook skills. I bet she's hoping for an arena with a lot of water.

"Bedtime, kids!" Mia screeches, still hyped up and jittery from excitement. She is a Capitol citizen, after all. She loves the Games just like they all do.


	10. Chapter 10

**Seraphina Madrid, D7**

The Gamemakers gave me a score of eight for training. My mentor, Young J, tells me the advantages and disadvantages of this.

"Sponsors like high scores. That is what's really important. I already have a few sponsors lined up for you. They think you're a fierce competitor." This is news to me. "The down side of getting a high score is you are now a target. The Careers don't want you in their alliance, and that instantly makes you a threat to them."

"I saw the tiny District 11 girl training with them," I add. "She's athletic and sharp-eyed, but dim-witted."

Young J thinks for a moment. "You're quite observant, aren't you?" I shrug. When your life is placed on the line, you tend to pay more attention to things. Young J sighs. "Like I was saying, be careful around the Careers. They'll want to take you out of the picture real quick."

I nod and Young J pats my shoulder. "You'll do just fine. You're smart, Sera, I know you'll do fine."

I sigh in relief. Young J is one of the most respected figures back home. If he has faith in me, I do too.

"Now it's time for the interviews with Caesar Flickerman," Young J says. "Thankfully, this is his first year as an interviewer, so he should be as nervous as you are. My advice is to stay calm and if you ever freeze on stage, do what I did."

"What's that?"

"Trip over the stage and land on a fat Capitol lady. Then tell Caesar you saw a vision of the future and that it looked very prosperous for him if you stayed alive to see it. I sold that story and I had twenty sponsors by the next day." Young J chuckles. "These people are so superstitious."

I laugh with him. "I don't think I'll try that. Didn't you sprain your wrist from that fall?"

His eyes widen in remembrance. "Oh, yeah. How did I win this thing after all?"

I laugh so hard my cheeks start to hurt. I wipe the tears from my eyes and look at my wise mentor. His eyes are clouded, like he's taken a trip back into the past. When he comes back, he glances at his watch and sighs. He looks up at me with sad eyes. "Prep time."

I groan. "No! She hates me!"

Young J gives me a small, sad smile. "Sorry." Then he chuckles again, no doubt at my bad fortune, and saunters off down the hall.

"Where are you going?! Young J! She'll torture me! Help, Young J!" I scream in terror, to no avail. I hear the deep rumble of his quiet laughter. I think he enjoys the idea of my stupid stylist strangling me with ridiculous clothes and jewelry.

"There you are, darling!" her high-pitched voice squeals. I visibly flinch. She grabs me in her death grip. "Let's go, Seraphina! We haven't much time before interviews. I fixed up them most lovely gown for you…" On and on she talks. I tune out.

In less than twenty minutes, I'm dressed in a floor-length, glimmering electric green dress with a pink ribbon wrapped around my waist. My straight dark hair is intricately braided around my head and left to rest on my left shoulder. The ends are tied with the same pink ribbon that is tied around my waist. My stylist didn't put any extreme makeup on, just a small amount to give my cheeks some extra color. When I look at the mirror, I'm stunned.

I look purely and simply angelic.

I turn to my stylist. Regret washes over me. So she doesn't actually hate me. She probably just didn't know what else to dress me up as for the parade. She made a rogue teen girl from 7 look graceful and majestic.

"I can't thank you enough," I say. "What was your name again?" Now I feel bad about not knowing her name.

"It's Miley," she smiles amiably. "You look ravishing. Let's go on down now. You're ready. Your district partner, Oakley, is wearing green as well. I took it that you didn't enjoy the tree theme, so we decided to skip that and just dress you in green. That way, you still reflect your district somewhat."

"Thanks," I say sincerely. "You have no idea how much that means."

We meet up with Oakley and his stylist by the elevator. Once we get to the stage, I feel someone poke my arm. I look down and see Oakley looking around nervously.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

I can see in his eyes that he looks terrified by the idea of walking up there and speaking. "I can't do it," he whispers, his eyes flying wildly about. "I've always had stage fright."

Not knowing what to do, I hold out my hand. "You can do it," I say. "Just pretend like you're talking to me the whole time. I hardly know you. It would be nice to get to know someone here."

Oakley nervously takes my outstretched hand. His shoulders relax but I can still feel him stressing. There is an anxious vibe in the air, and it's tangible. I don't understand the big deal. Three minutes. That's it! Sounds like a piece of cake to me.

My mother's words come back to me from when she said goodbye: _You've got such a brave heart, Sera. You could stare down a lion like it was nothing. I've seen it in you. _

"Thanks Mom," I whisper, almost inaudibly. Her gentle advice always reaches through to me in the roughest of times. Her words of wisdom give me the strength to conquer all things impossible. The things that people say I can't do.

They say I'm just a poor girl from 7.

They say I can't win the Games.

They say I won't make a difference in the world.

They are wrong. I will show them. I will do what others say I cannot do. I am determined to make a difference in the world. I will prove my mother's words true. I will show Panem that I _am_ brave, that I am _not_ some random girl from an outer district, that I can and will win these terrible Games.

They will see.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sterling Roscoe, D6**

I'm still thinking about the conversation I had with my mentor as we ride down to the stage area for interviews. We talked about possible allies and came up with a few ideas. I still don't know. I'm beginning to think going into these Games as a loner might be best. Nell has proved a good friend, however. We could stick together.

"Are you nervous?" Nell asks me. She is decked out in a fancy, sunflower yellow dress. She looks as bright and bubbly as her personality. I'm dressed similarly, with a black shirt, black pants and a yellow bow tie wrapped tightly around my neck.

"A little," I confess. "What about you?"

She starts to say something, but her eyes bug out and she chokes it back. She just nods.

"You'll be fine. There are twenty-three other people who are in the same boat. I'm sure you'll do great, Nell." My attempts at soothing her are mediocre at best, but she seems comforted by my words. She gives me a thankful smile and then we are rushed to the stage.

We sit in our assigned seats and begin to wait. All the tributes are here, sitting according to district and gender. Ladies first, of course. I will go twelfth, then. Right in the middle. No one will remember me. They usually don't pay attention to District 6, anyway. I've got nothing to lose. That makes me relax a lot more.

"For his debut in tribute interviews, let's give a big round of applause for Caesar Flickerman!" a voice says out of nowhere.

The crowd goes wild. They don't even know the man and they already love him. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: these people certainly are strange.

A young man with straight black hair and a twinkling blue suit welcomes the crowd. He plays with them, getting them riled up and excited. He doesn't seem the least bit nervous. He acts like he's has years of experience when this is his first night in front of the camera. Caesar Flickerman is a wonder to me.

"Let's meet our first tribute, from the lovely District 1, Ella Jackson!"

The eighteen-year-old prances onto the stage, twirling her skirts and showing off her breathtaking beauty. Nell rolls her eyes. She must be thinking the same thing I am: I dislike her already.

The Career flaunts her beauty to the audience before the timer goes off. Her district partner, Caspian Davis, then takes the stage and talks freely with Caesar. The District 2 Careers, Archer Princeton and Cleo Patrick, act fearless and unstoppable. District 4 does the same. They all act like the Games is one huge party. They're just here for the ride. More tributes pass, but none stand out.

They call Nell. She seems to almost tip-toe across the stage to where Caesar sits, waiting for her to join him. Seeing her up on that huge stage makes me jumpy as well. I flinch when Caesar shakes her tiny hand.

They begin to chat about different things. The Capitol, the tribute parade, training. She eventually opens up and talks about her family at home. Nell tells Caesar that she learned to be strong by living with her five older brothers. Caesar laughs and exclaims that he could barely live with his one brother. The crowd laughs with him, loving every second of this.

The timer goes out and Caesar locks eyes with me. He smiles hugely and says, "From the incredible District 6, Sterling Roscoe!"

I almost break out laughing. Incredible District 6? I wish!

I walk up the stairs to the stage. This feels oddly like the reaping. I shake Caesar's hand and sit down with him.

"So Sterling," he begins, "how do you feel about the competition this year?"

In this moment, I remember that I didn't have a strategy for my interview. My mentor suggested for me to wing it, since I'm not very good at sticking to a plan. That was proven when I tried to find an ally.

So I say it straight.

"Well, the roasted turkey was delicious, but nothing could beat the chocolate pudding."

The audience roars with laughter. Caesar does too. I see some of the tributes chuckling to themselves. Probably agreeing. I've never had such a variety of food in my life. I was always at a loss when it came to dinner. What amazing dish is worthy of my choosing today?

"I agree with you on that one, Sterling," Caesar says. He grows serious again. "Now tell me. Do you plan to have any allies this year?"

"Right," I say sarcastically. "That plan didn't go so well."

"What happened?"

"Apparently, I'm not worth her time. And she was my own escort, too!"

Everyone cracks up laughing again. I spot my escort in the crowd, pretending to be entirely clueless to what I'm saying. I smirk.

It takes some time for Caesar to control the crowd. Once it is quiet enough for him to hear me, he says, "You're quite the comedian, Sterling. We hope to see you in the future." To my surprise, the timer goes off. That was the fastest three minutes of my life! Caesar says my name one last time before introducing the next kid.

When I sit down, Nell whispers to me, "You did really good. The audience loved you."

"Thanks. They liked you too."

"Not as much. You had some of them in stitches." Then she turns her attention back to the interview.

I guess I am pretty good at winging it. Who would've known?


	12. Chapter 12

**Jetta Minato, D3**

My interview didn't stand out as much as the others. I mostly stared at my shoes the whole time while Caesar tried to befriend me. He didn't succeed.

The District 6 boy, Sterling, play a humorous angle. He seemed a bit shocked though every time the crowd laughed, almost like he didn't know he was funny. His interview was enjoyable to watch.

Seraphina Madrid, the District 7 girl, is mysterious but it is impossible to hide the courage and kindness that shines through her. She is physically tall and strong, but that doesn't stand out as much as her personality. She looks beautiful, just like her name sounds. Her district partner is obviously anxious, but has a few nice things to say. He almost runs back to his seat when the timer sounds.

Most of the other districts pass in a blur. One boy from District 10 tells Caesar that he's going to fight for his sister. He is honorable and brave. You can tell from one glance that he has a true heart.

The District 11 girl, Gaia Morrison, puzzles me. She is openly talkative with Caesar, unlike most of the other outer district tributes. I noticed she is a part of the Career alliance. Very unusual. She must have showed them something that makes her valuable. There's no way this way an accident. Careers don't accept just anybody.

They are ruthless killing machines with no destination but becoming a victor to bring honor to their districts. They make me want to spit. Their districts have enough honor already. Isn't it enough that they are better than the rest of us at everything? They are selfish and that's all there is to it.

But this girl, Gaia, confuses me to no end. I will ponder her motives at a later date. I should focus on the remaining tributes now and discuss them with my mentor later.

The 11 boy is quiet and both of the tributes from 12 don't seem like anything special. I will keep an eye on them anyway. You never know who will rise to the occasion in a tough situation.

Caesar Flickerman signs off with his signature cheerful attitude. He tells the nation to tune in tomorrow for the first day of the 22nd Annual Hunger Games. As if they had a choice.

My escort is steaming mad with my performance. "You stared at your feet the whole time! How could you?! Don't you care to win at all?"

I'm so fed up with her berating me about everything that I snap. "No! I don't want to win! I want to die in the bloodbath so I don't change into a heartless monster that murders children without a thought! So to answer your question, no. I do not wish to become victor and come back here to be yelled at by you more." And with that, I stalk off to my room. I tear the stupid dress off and dress in my old clothes. They smell like home. Greasy factories and science nerds. I miss home so much it hurts my heart to think about it. I drift off to sleep; my thoughts miles away in an ugly, disgusting place that I love called District 3…


	13. Chapter 13

**Gideon Cabot, D10**

Two Peacekeepers escort me to the Stockyard, where last preparations are to be made for the Games. I thought once I arrived in the Capitol that I wouldn't have to deal with Peacekeepers anymore, but I stand corrected. They are everywhere, and they will always be leading me to my death.

Last night during the interviews, I realized something. I realized that I want to win these Games. I want to win because then I can get home to Wren and Pop. I can return to District 10 and I can be safe and happy with my family for the rest of my life. I could provide better for my family. We would never go hungry again.

My mentor, Shep, meets me down in the Stockyard. We don't say much. He's a quiet fellow. Finally, I say, "It's been a long journey."

Shep nods. "It's not over yet."

"I know," I reply. "How did you win?" I've been wondering that for days and couldn't come up with an explanation.

Shep taps his head. "It's all about what you know. It's a mind game, Gideon. Not a killing game."

"Thanks Shep. For everything."

He nods and grins. There isn't much more to say between the two of us. A voice comes out from nowhere and tells me to step into the glass tube. It will carry me into the mystery arena where I will fight for the next few weeks.

I turn to Shep. These could be my last words. "Tell them I'll be watching out for them, if I don't make it. Promise?"

"Promise," says my mentor. I know he will keep it. I turn back around to step into the glass tube but Shep's soft voice stops me. "Gideon?"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck."

I nod and step into the one-way glass elevator. The doors close and I don't turn back. In this moment, I make a promise to myself. I promise myself to be brave. I promise myself to never back down in the face of fear and in the time of death. I promise myself to stand my ground and never be pushed around by anyone.

The glass encases me and pushes me forward, above ground, into the arena.


	14. Chapter 14

**Ethan Xenotime, D9**

The first thing I feel is _cold_. A freezing cold wind almost pushes me right off my plate. My eyes squint to focus, but I can't see anything. The golden Cornucopia shimmers straight in front of me, but other than that, I can't see a thing.

"_60, 59, 58,_" a booming voice sounds. It continues to count down from there.

I'm blasted by cold again, and I'm eternally grateful for the tribute outfit this year. It is a long sleeved shirt, a rain proof jacket, simple pants, and boots. I can tell they planned for this snowstorm arena.

_Snowstorm! _

It finally clicks in my mind. Immediately, I throw my hood over my head. I am starting to regain my sight again. I see the tributes scattered about this frozen wasteland, forming a circle around the Cornucopia. All the supplies are piled near the center of the golden horn.

Should I run in and grab something? No, I could easily get killed that way. Then what? Run into a cold oblivion? Then I remember. I agreed to join Gideon's alliance a few days ago, with Emmie and Calico. We were supposed to meet up after the gong sounds.

"_46, 45, 43_."

There is still some time left. I look around me. To my left is the District 3 girl, Jetta. To my right are two Careers, the District 1 girl and the District 2 boy. I can see their excited smiles plastered onto their faces. Jetta has a strange look upon her face. It seems as if she's thinking very deeply about something. Her eyes are shut and her mouth is moving. I think she's chanting a song.

"_31, 30, 29_."

Snow whips around my face. I hate this arena already. I try to peer down at the ground to see if it's stable. It is sleek ice. As soon as I lay a foot on it, I'll slip. Wonderful. I bet most of the tributes hadn't even noticed this. I can't wait to see their shocked faces when they face plant into ice.

"_24, 23, 22_."

Wow, could this countdown take any longer? Get on with this already!

"_19, 18, 17_."

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Jetta's eyes fly open. When I look over she's staring at me with a look of pity. She mouths the words, "I'm sorry".

She crouches and prepares to spring.

What is she doing?! If she leaves her plate before the gong rings, the bombs in the ground will blow her to pieces. And if she jumps this way…

I realize her plan too late. Because when I look up, she has already thrust herself forward. To me. To the Careers next to me.

When she touches the ground, the countdown is at 12.

My last thought is, "_I guess the odds never really were in my favor._"

I see a quick flash of light and my body is thrown backwards.


	15. Chapter 15

**Calico Stocking, D8**

The explosion across the way shocks all of us. Someone stepped off their plate. Someone committed suicide. The sound of bombs firing is followed by a loud cracking sound. What was that?

I kneel down on my plate. I don't dare touch the ground, for someone over there just found out the consequences of that. I simply stare at the ground. Not unusual at all.

Ice. Cold, hard ice. The mines set off an explosion so powerful that it caused the ice to crack. Not good.

"_3, 2, 1, 0_."

The gong sounds.

I don't run.

I carefully step onto the ice, to test it. It falters and I almost fall through the ice with it. I quickly throw my weight back onto the plate. My plate is all that's safe now.

Most of the ice around me becomes unstable and sinks into the freezing water. But some stays in place. Two paths form: one going towards the Cornucopia and one going away from it. You can probably guess the one I chose.

I hurry as fast as I can down the slippery path without falling. I have no idea where I'm going. I follow the path for as long as it goes. There are no trees or anything else in sight. All I can see for miles and miles is ice. It stretches all the way to the horizon and drops off into the unknown. There is no place to hide. No place to run to.

It's impossible to tell one tribute from another. When I feel I'm far enough away from the nearest tribute, I turn around. I see some, most likely Careers, running around the Cornucopia, attacking every scared little kid they can find. Some are drowning in the icy cold water.

"Calico?" someone whispers to my left.

My heart leaps into my throat. I spring around and crouch in a defensive position, with my fists held high by my head. Flurries of snow block my vision. All I can see is a tall, dark figure slowly trudging my way.

"Who's there?!" I demand. The figure continues his trek forward. "I'm warning you! Reveal yourself!"

The figure takes one more step forward, and he's close enough that I can see his face. If I had just grabbed one weapon from the Cornucopia earlier I wouldn't be having this problem…

I also might have been dead, so I guess it's a good thing I didn't.

"Relax, Calico." How does he know it's me? I can barely see him. How can he tell it's me? "It's Gideon."

"Prove it." Precautions are always the smart way to go in the Games. This could be a ploy by the Careers to kill me.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Give me one of your shoes."

"What? Why?"

"During training, I noticed both District 10 tributes tied their shoes differently than the rest of us. Give me one of your shoes. It's the only way to truly find out."

The person in question sighs. He stoops over to take his shoe off, mumbling, "If I get frostbite, you're going to pay."

"What's frostbite?" Strange term. We never had snow back home. Winters were composed of mainly rainy days. We never had to deal with snow or any sicknesses related to it.

"It's when you get too exposed to the cold and your toes grow black and fall off." He hands me his shoe. "Hurry up; I'm freezing over here."

Sure enough, there's that strange knot. I wonder how they tie it that way. "Alright, Gideon, let's get a move on," I say, throwing his boot back.

"Let's find Emmie and Ethan," he suggests, racing to put the boot back on. "They've got to be wandering around somewhere. They wouldn't go straight into the bloodbath."

A horrifying thought comes to mind. "What if they died in that explosion?"

Gideon's shoulders slump. "We still have to search for them. They might have been far away from it, like you and I were."

"I think it would be smarter to find some sort of shelter first," I say, looking around. "That may be slightly impossible." Not a tree or rock formation in sight.

"We could build an igloo," Gideon says, but before I can ask, he goes on. "It's like a little house made of blocks of ice."

I nod in agreement. "Since the wind blows the snow this way," I say, pointing one way, "we can build it here. Then the snow will disguise it and no one will find us unless they come to our territory."

"Good idea. Let's look for the others first."

"We should wait," I argue. It pains me to say this. "If they're in the sky tonight, they we will know whether or not to search for them." I shiver in cold and fright.

Gideon reluctantly agrees. The ice is less slippery farther out from the Cornucopia, and there is more snow to build our fort with. It would be more efficient to have both of us working at the same time, but we can't afford to not have someone on guard. We switch turns; I watch first and Gideon starts building because he knows what he's doing.

By the time we hear the anthem playing and see the Capitol seal in the sky, we have a tall fort to protect us. The walls are sturdy and strong; the wind barely leaks through the cracks. If only we had some matches to start a fire, this would be the perfect shelter. We sit crossed-legged in the entrance of the igloo, watching the starry sky.

There are many unexpected faces in the sky tonight. The District 1 girl and the District 2 boy are both dead. I look over to Gideon. "How do you think that happened?"

"It must've been the mines. I can't imagine any of the other tributes taking them out in the bloodbath."

The girl from 3, the girl from 4, both from 5, the girl from 6, the boy from 7, Ethan, and the girl from 12. All bloodbath victims. Combined with the dead Careers, that makes ten deaths today. A relatively small amount, considering the really bad bloodbaths in the past years.

"Ethan," Gideon whispers.

"But Emmie is still out there," I say, trying to cheer him up, to no avail. Even I know how close Gideon and Ethan were. "We will start looking for her tomorrow."

Gideon nods, sinking down to the ground. I can't imagine how he feels right now. I've never lost a best friend before, but I have a feeling I will in the days to come. I guard the fort the whole night for intruders. No one comes until daybreak.

Small, shuffling footsteps come from behind. I shake Gideon awake. If this tribute is deadly, I need both of us to fight. I don't stand a chance alone.

"Hello?" A familiar voice squeaks.


	16. Chapter 16

**Seraphina Madrid, D7**

Running, running, running. All my instincts scream at me to run. But I can't leave the Cornucopia without _something_.

I am aware that this is how most tributes perish. They run right into the golden pit of death without another thought. I am not like other tributes. I have a plan.

Once the gong sounds, I pause, waiting for the others to get a head start. It's a good thing I do because as soon as the kid next to me puts one foot on the ground, the ice cracks and he falls under. He sinks like a rock and drowns. I am left agape, staring at where the unfortunate child slipped through the ice. That could have been me had I not stopped to observe my surroundings.

At last, the ice seems to settle and forms two paths. I sprint towards the Cornucopia, whipping my head around to watch for enemies. The ice begins to split a few yards in front of me, but I don't let that slow me down. Taking huge strides, I leap over the divide and slide onto the other side. I swiftly regain my footing and rush to the center of the Cornucopia.

White flurries blow into my face. I pull my hood up and keep running. Suddenly, someone forcefully tugs the back of my jacket and my feet slide out from under me. I hear the ice crack again under my sudden weight.

_This could be it. This could be the end._ These are the only two thoughts my mind entertains for a split second while I desperately rake the ground for something to hold onto. My fingers frantically search for something to keep me from falling into the ice. Anything.

There is a loud splash behind me. Whoever pulled me down fell into the icy water below. Serves them right.

Looking up, I notice I am directly beneath the golden horn. I crawl to the lip of the horn, where all the goodies are hiding. In my peripherals I see the remaining Careers shoving all their surviving victims into the water to drown. This is my chance. Grab something and run.

A miracle is sent down from heaven above. As I turn the bend to snatch supplies, I see hope. I see life. I see love.

I see a shining sliver axe.

I also see a backpack of other various, resourceful items, but none are as near and dear to me as an axe.

Thank you, District 7, for providing me with a horrifyingly beautiful ability to use an axe. I would be nothing without it. I steal both the precious axe and the backpack before high-tailing it out of there. As I'm sprinting away with all my might, I realize something.

This was the only backpack in there.

The Cornucopia is normally stacked high with tents, food, water, medical supplies, and much, much more. But when I reached in there, the backpack was all alone. I'm glad we came into company.

The Careers probably figured anyone stupid enough to walk straight into the bloodbath would be an easy kill. They thought they could slaughter anyone within fifty feet of their territory. Well, they were wrong. The lanky District 7 girl is now the biggest threat in the game, and they are the biggest fools in the game. It's sort of funny how things work out.

When the Careers and other flighty tributes that escaped are less than tiny dots on the horizon, I rest for a few minutes. They ground is thicker and more stable out here. I would feel safer one thousand miles away, but this will do for now.

I dig into my pack curiously. I first spot a white mask made entirely of wool that has two slits for eyes and a hole for the mouth. I slip it over my face and my cheeks slowly begin to warm. My vision isn't clouded much and I can still breathe easy. The only problem is I can't hear much. Deafness in the Games will not get you far. I cut holes for my ears with my axe and slip the mask over my face.

The best part about the mask, the backpack, and the axe is their color. Sleek silver or white. They blend in perfectly with the scenery. I try dumping snow onto my jacket and pants. To my blatant surprise, the snowflakes stick quite well to the fabric. The Gamemakers must have figured at least one tribute would be smart enough to try camouflage, so they made the fabric absorbent to snow.

For another hour or so, I move farther away until the Cornucopia disappears completely from sight. When it is gone, I lay my backpack down and instantly fall asleep.

I awake to the sound of shuffling boots and teeth clattering loudly. I don't make a move. If I'm camouflaged enough, this kid should pass right by me.

They don't. Just my luck. Instead of finding me, they sit about one yard away from me. They don't notice me at all. The tribute simply sits down and wraps their tiny arms around themselves, whimpering and rocking back and forth.

"I wanna go home. I wanna go home," a tiny voice emancipates from the tribute. With their back turned to me, I could take them out easily. One throw of my newly acquired axe will send them right home.

I grip the handle of the axe. Slightly sitting up, I get a good angle on my target. I think it's a little boy. He continues whimpering and shivering. I can't bring myself to throw the weapon. All it takes is one good toss, but I can't do it. I can't murder a child.

Instead, I tackle him and clamp my hand over his mouth. I hear and feel his intake of breath. I shove my hand even farther into his mouth. To his credit, he doesn't bite down. I pin him tightly to the ground. "Stop crying," I hiss into his blue ear. "They'll find us and then we'll be screwed."

The boy is rigid. Other than his tiny intake of breath, he is as still as a stone. "I will let you go if you stay quiet. Will you scream if I let you go?"

He shakes his head stiffly.

"Good," I say, releasing him from the icy ground. "Don't try anything funny."

The boy nods and stares at me with bug eyes. I look around to check for others. The coast is clear, luckily. We are safe this time.

"Who are you?" the boy whispers. I barely catch his three little words.

"District 7."

He shakes his head, his fragile eyebrows creasing. "No, I meant, what is your name?"

"Seraphina Madrid," I say. "I go by Sera."

The boy smiles. "I'm Thomas. District 3."

"Good. I could use a smart ally." I glance down at him. "Allies?"

"Allies," he confirms, nodding. I help him up and we look around. "Where should we go?"

My first reaction is to say, 'somewhere safe'. But honestly, where is safe? The Careers will be hunting down tributes even in their weakened, broken state. That's what they do. They don't wait around for the others to die first. They don't outlast. They murder. However, their numbers are decimated, so they won't be covering as much ground before. I look out over the horizon. Icy plains stretch out as far as the eye can see. The more we move away, the harder the Gamemakers will try to bring us back. What is left?

"The Cornucopia."


	17. Chapter 17

**Sterling Roscoe, D6**

I survive the first night. I don't know how, but I did. Nell didn't. So I'm alone.

The worst part about it is I saw her go down. I saw with my own eyes when the Career grabbed her by the throat and plunged her down into the water. He held her under until she ran out of breath. Then she sunk to the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again.

Except, I did see her again. I saw her in my dreams. She was far away. I tried running to her, trying to catch up, but I couldn't. I kept slipping on the ice. My feet would slip and slide and I would fall right on my face. But Nell happily pranced off into the sunset, to what looked like a sunnier, warmer place. I was left behind in this cold, dark arena without her.

When I finally woke up, the weight of her death crashed down on me. I never knew her. I barely spoke to her. We agreed to be allies because of the mutual need to survive. For what? I have no wish to live. Why should I? Not one person back in District 6 will care if I die. They're too busy worrying about their own family. I have no family to worry about. I am living against my will. No matter how many times I tell my heart to cease beating, it keeps on going, taunting me with its pointless heartbreaks and unreasonable antics.

Hearts have no defense. They enjoy making us suffer with unrequited love and cold rejections. Mine has taking a beating. From losing my family and living in the orphanage, it's been kicked and beaten so many times I lost count.

All I eat today is a handful of snow when the wind throws it into my face. Tasty. My jokes with Caesar Flickerman about different food seems like a terrible idea now. The Gamemakers are rubbing it in my face that they can give me the most luxurious dishes in the world and then snatch them back whenever they please. I'm only hoping for my mentor to send me something slightly substantial.

The boom of a canon alerts my senses to stay awake. If I start daydreaming again, it could turn dangerous.

I wonder how that last one died.

I suppose there is no use in wondering. Death is death. That tribute is gone. There's no way to bring them back. It really doesn't matter who or what killed them. All that matters is they are gone and the rest of us have one less problem on our hands.

Snowflakes fall down my back again and I shiver like crazy. My teeth are chattering and my steps are slow. I possess no weapon. I am possibly the biggest and helpless target anyone has ever witnessed.

I wish they would just take me down already.

Where are the Careers with their fancy weapons and ruthless demeanors? Why haven't they shown up yet to put me out of my misery?

I hear a faint shout behind me. I slowly turn around. There, on a ledge I recently walked past, are my saviors. Or my killers, depending on how you see it.

They run down the hill, slipping and falling. I don't attempt to run away. My plan worked flawlessly. The Careers are surrounding me in less than a minute. They all wear sadistic smiles on their evil faces. They intend to play with me, to make me scared. To make me run so they can hunt me down again and then kill me. They want to bring a little fun into the game.

I do, too.

"Hello, friend," the District 2 girl says, towering over me like a monster. In her hand is a giant chunk of ice. That's interesting.

"Hello," I answer, just as amiably. "Where's your fancy spears and swords? I thought you were skilled with weapons. I suppose I was wrong. I am just a stupid District 6 kid. Got no business being in the Hunger Games." I sigh, pretending to be thoughtful. Then I look up and give them a huge smirk.

A fist comes out of nowhere and nails the side of my head. I lose my balance, slip, and fall to the ground. Normally, the Careers would probably laugh at my clumsiness. But I shook their confidence. I rattled them and brought them down with words. The punch doesn't hurt so much when I think of the brighter side of this little chat.

"Listen here, 6," the girl says fiercely.

"I'm sorry," I interrupt. "What's your name? I'm afraid we haven't formally met."

"Cleo," she spits out.

"Nice to meet you, Cleo. My name is Go Die in a Hole."

She punches me again, this time square in the nose. Blood trickles down and my vision blurs for a second or two.

"Don't sass me, you dirty district kid!"

"My apologies again, Cleo. You know, it's _so _nice to be talking to someone again. We should be friends, you and I. I know a great little café called 'You're a Bitch'."

"That's it!" my good friend Cleo screeches, shoving me down on the ice. I cough up blood. "I've had enough of you, you filthy scumbag!"

"My comebacks were better," I wheeze out.

Someone giggles.

Cleo spins around at lightning speed, eyes twitching and fists clenched. "You!" she screams at the tiny District 11 girl. The girl backs up, stumbling over her own feet.

"I'm sorry, Cleo!" the girl pleads.

"I don't want to hear it, 11. We brought you into our alliance because you told us you were an expert tracker. You proved yourself worthy of being a Career. Don't make me kill you! Because I will. I'm not afraid to turn on my own."

It seemed like that was as much towards the 11 girl as it was towards the others in her pack. She's sending them all a message. A deadly message. She is declaring herself the leader and nobody better contradict her.

I let out of low whistle. "Shit just got real."

Cleo's expression is priceless. I'm sort of glad this is how I'm going to die. At least I get to pick on a low-temper Career kid in my last moments. She is so mad it looks like steam is going to come out of her ears any minute now.

Before Cleo has a chance to beat me to a pulp, a huge black object soars under the ice. It flies beneath us and then disappears.

"What was that, Gavin?" Cleo asks the District 4 guy.

District 4's eyes grow big and bug out. "It… can't…be," he stutters out. His eyes are glued to where the thing was swimming underneath us. He looks up at Cleo and blinks. "Killer whale."

I almost laugh out loud. Nice touch, Gamemakers. Bring some water monster into the game called a 'killer whale'. Chomp us all to bits. The Careers are completely taken aback. The District 11 girl has the good sense to run. She's gone and out of here before Cleo has time to blink. Must be those tracker skills. She feels the need to run and follows that instinct.

The killer whale flashes by again, but this time, it breaks through the ice and lunges towards us. The others try to run. They don't get far. The killer whale races after them under the water and breaks the ice again, right out from under their feet. All the Careers fall into the water but the girl from 11 escapes.

Before the crazed animal comes for me, it tears up the Careers. This must be a mutt. There is no way a real, natural-born animal of any kind could be this ruthless. It's like a genetically engineered Career shark. It feeds on the living and doesn't stop until we're all dead.

I shut my eyes as the whale swims over to finish me off.


	18. Chapter 18

**Gideon Cabot, D10**

We haven't found Emmie, but she hasn't appeared in the sky yet. Despite the numerous times canons sounded today, they haven't shown her face at the end of the day. Today, we suffered many losses.

All the Careers perished except for the District 11 girl. I imagine this doesn't shock me. I highly doubt the tiny girl murdered them herself. I suppose she ran away at the right time and they were obliterated by some Gamemaker trap. That is my personal opinion, but it could be wrong. I have been wrong before. It wouldn't surprise me if they simply died from the cold or from starvation. The girl from 11 certainly has more experience being hungry and cold than those privileged kids.

So besides the Careers, the District 9 girl and the District 11 boy died today. Five deaths all in one day. If the death rate stays steady, this could be the fastest Games yet.

Calico coughs next to me. The chills have gotten her. She stays inside our igloo all day long now, resting if she can. Her coughs rack her whole body. There is no way I'm going to magically find food out here in this frozen wasteland. If sponsors don't send something quick, Calico will die of illness.

I use my shoe to crack the ice. The tiny opening is enough to draw water from. I stick my finger into the water, and then bring it up to my nose. The sample smells strongly of salt. My worst fears are confirmed. The water beneath the ice is saltwater. We can't drink one drop of it.

My knees give out in exhaustion. I sink to the ground. I'm so tired. Tired and hungry and cold. This is only the second or third day of the Games and I can't stand it anymore. I want so earnestly to lay my head down and rest forever. But I can't afford to think like that. I want even more to go home safely to Wren and Pop. They need me back home. I won't lose hope. I can't. It goes against my own will to stay alive.

Sixteen have died. Eight are left standing. I am determined to be the last one and to do all that it takes.

"Gideon," Calico's raspy voice whispers.

I don't turn from my post at guard. I want to win and become victor, but I will still protect my ally while she has breath. "Yeah?"

"I can't hold on anymore."

I turn. There Calico lays, her eyes glued to the ceiling of our igloo. Her face is pale white, like a ghost, and I can barely see the fog of her breath. Her eyes find mine and we hold each other's gaze for a long time. The only thing that breaks our intense gaze is her coughing.

"Let's get you some fresh air," I say, holding out her hand.

She shakes her head. "There's no use. I'm not going to make it. My immune system is working too hard."

I don't know what she is talking about, but I still drag her outside the igloo. The continuous blizzard has died down a bit. She sits up but doesn't speak. Finally, Calico looks up.

"Gideon, I want you to win. Do what it takes to get back home. See your little sister grow up. Protect her. And if you can't do that for me, at least do it for your mother."

I nod, speechless. There isn't much I can say. Except that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't save her. Calico knows better than anybody that it isn't in my power to protect her from a sickness, but I still feel like I could've done something. "I'm sorry, Calico," I weep. I didn't notice till now that I am crying. The tears flow unashamedly down my cheeks. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry there's nothing I could do."

"I know that. There's nothing to be sorry for. Nothing to forgive." She laying on the ground now, looking up at me. I'm kneeling before her, the only real person to witness this girl's deathbed.

"Still forgive me. I will never truly live again unless I know you are happy where you are."

Calico smiles. Or, she tries to. She is so weak that the smallest things are difficult. "I forgive you, Gideon. And don't worry." Her voice is a whisper now. "I am going to a better place."

"How can you think that?" I cry. How can she lose so much hope for life in so little time?

"Before I was born, I was dead for billions of years and I wasn't inconvenienced at all. I will be okay. I will be happy. Don't worry, Gideon. Go be happy."

"Goodbye, Calico," I whisper one last time. Her eyes shut, smiling contently. I hold her hand until I can't feel a pulse anymore. Calico's canon booms and one last tear falls. After that, I squeeze her hand one last time and vow to be strong for her. No more tears. No more regret.

I take her jacket and put it over mine. She won't need it any longer. The igloo is strangely empty without her here. I walk away, never turning back. The past is the past. Let it be.

Two more canons boom. I continue to walk. There isn't a person in sight. I walk all the way back to the Cornucopia. The arena has turned into a no man's land. The blizzard picks up again, and hits me harder than ever. It's a good thing I took Calico's jacket, because otherwise, I'd be absolutely freezing.

I sit at the base of the Cornucopia. The Capitol seal appears in the night sky and the anthem blares. I'm so tired of hearing it; I wish I could cut my ears off. But that seems like too much trouble for not enough profit.

First, Calico appears in the sky. Her words come back to me from earlier. _I am going to a better place. _

I suppose she is. Anything is better than this arena or the world outside of it, even death. Death is a sweet escape. No more worries, no more fears. Just peaceful rest. I find myself looking forward to it. These Games have worn me out so much that I'd prefer death to the path to victory.  
I know I have a little sister out there who needs someone to take care of her. I know I have a dad out there who lost his wife and might just lose his son to the Hunger Games. But now that I think about it, Mom is in a better place, just like Calico said. The Hunger Games changes people. Pop might lose me anyway, even if I win. I won't be the same person that I was before.

After Calico evaporates from the sky, her district partner appears. I guess it's a little ironic that they died on the same day. But considering this is the Games, it's a bit common.

The next face comes as a surprise. Dark brown eyes, light blond hair, and a bubbly smile that could only ever belong to my friend Emmie. Emmie and Calico are the only ones smiling in their pictures. I force myself to remain strong for them. _They are in a better place, they are in a better place_, I chant to myself.

Before the anthem has finished, a person has tackled me to the ground, which wasn't hard considering I was already slumped against the Cornucopia. The person shoves me to the ground, putting me in a chokehold. I struggle against their rock hard grip, using my legs to kick the person in the side. They groan and release. I quickly reverse our positions. In a flash, I'm above my attacker and they're on the icy ground.

The blizzard furiously blows ice and snow into our faces. I scarcely get a glimpse at the person. I recognize their intelligent hazel eyes. District 11.

Clasping my numb hands around her throat, I crush her windpipe. I don't want to kill this girl. But she betrayed the outer districts by joining those murderous Careers. She likes the game. She fights dirty, and her breaths are numbered.

"Why did you join them?" She doesn't answer. "Why?!" I use my hold on her throat to bash her skull into the ice. She moans in pain. A red stain quickly spreads across the ice.

"It was the only way to survive this long," her scratchy voice whispers. "I would've been dead in minutes unless I stuck with them and played their game."

"How'd they let you in? You must have showed them something special. What can you do?"

"I'm a tracker," the girl whispers, barely audible. She chuckles sadistically. "How did you think I found you? Your district partner? The others? I tracked them down. And I put an end to them."

This girl killed Emmie. This girl killed other tributes. She cackles loudly at my expression. A burning rage builds up inside of me. I fight hard to contain it. All my instincts scream at me to kill her. To get revenge. I don't do it. I refuse to become a murder. I will not become something I'm not. I'm not a monster.

Yet, I find myself thinking that even if I was that monster that killed innocent kids, I don't think I could bring myself to kill this one. The Games changed her. She obviously lost her mind a long time ago. Even if I could, I won't kill a crazy person.

In my distraction, the girl knees me in the gut. I lose my grip. She punches me in the chin and I fall to the ground. I feel so dizzy; it looks like the world is spinning around me. The girl laughs evilly again. She leans down to my eye level.

_End it quickly_, I want to say, but I can't find my voice.

"I think I'll take mercy on you and kill you quickly. No pain necessary," the girl muses thoughtfully. "I liked the fight in you. Don't worry," she pats my head, then grins. "It'll be fast."

_I am going to a better place. _

"Goodnight, Gideon."

* * *

**A/N: Review and let me know what you think!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Seraphina Madrid, D7**

Thomas falls to his knees. I rush to his side. The blizzard is picking up in force. I struggle to see the boy before me. He has been dragging his feet for hours, and he can walk no longer. I refuse to rest, keeping in mind that they are only four of us left. I saw the District 10 boy, Gideon I think, in the sky the other night. The Gamemakers want this thing over with. They are ready for a grand finale.

I, however, don't care a fig for those dim-witted Gamemakers. I only care about the dying boy beside me.

And when his canon sounds, I care only for winning in his honor.

_Three tributes left. Two opponents left. _

All I have to do now is fight to live. All I have to do is outlast the others. If it comes to a fight, I have my handy-dandy axe. I haven't had water since my last sponsor sent me some. I haven't eaten since the Games have begun.

Another canon booms.

_This is it. Me versus the last remaining tribute. _

I haven't killed anyone yet except for a sea lion that tried to eat me. I would have eaten his meat, but I was being overcautious. I don't want to die from bad meat. I took its hide instead. It made into a nice camouflage. With the sea lion's hide draped over my shoulders, I don't have to constantly put more snow over me. I blend in naturally now.

My stomach growls. I metaphorically tell it to hush. I will eat all I please when I get back to the Capitol. For now, I am still in the Games. I need to stay thin and fast.

I peer over the ledge that disguises the Cornucopia. There, sitting patiently, is that strange District 11 girl. She shows no sign of fear or attack. Her name is Gaia. I remember that much. She joined the Careers only to run away when they died. I saw the whole scene from a distance. The water creature tore those Careers limb from limb and then went on to kill the District 6 kid. Gaia escaped, however, and here she sits. Waiting for me.

I sneak up behind her. The blizzard is blowing so furiously, she won't be able to see me or hear me. With my wonderful axe in hand, I can kill her in seconds. She will be my one and only tribute kill. I can be proud of that. Most victors go through their Games killing every single tribute in sight. She is my only real target.

The girl is directly behind me. I lift my axe, ready to strike, and let it go. Suddenly, the wind whips up and blows the weapon off course. It sticks in the golden horn of the Cornucopia and stays there.

Gaia spins around in shock. She can't see me, due to my excellent camouflage, so she is frozen in confusion. I fling myself at her, pinning her to the ground. I punch her several times in the head until my knuckles bleed. Her eyes are distant, yet her chest still rises and falls with breath. She is still alive. Alive, but suffering. I turn to get the axe that is stuck in the Cornucopia.

She grabs my ankle and I slip on the ice. The ice cracks under our combined weight. The Cornucopia was not an ideal place to stage a fight. The ice is too thin here. We might both drown underwater or freeze from the temperature of the water if we fall through. Then what? No victor?

That's not a problem right now. There are still two tributes standing. One must fall. I won't be that one.

_For Thomas. For Gideon. For Oakley. For Young J. For District 7. For me._

_For me._

I slide around on the ice, using its slipperiness to my advantage. By some miracle, I regain my footing and stand up. Gaia is still on the ground, her blood spilling everywhere. I yank the axe from the golden horn. This is it. This is it.

_One last kill. _

I raise my arm and swing it around, letting the axe fly.

The axe finds its target with a sickening _snap_. Gaia screams out in pain. I wanted her death to be quick, but I guess what goes around, comes around. She deserved what was coming to her.

At long last, the canon booms.

At long last, the announcer declares me the winner. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the victor of the 22nd Annual Hunger Games, Seraphina Madrid from District 7!"

**A/N: I'm not done yet; I think I'll post one or two more chapters after this one. Maybe even a sequel will be in order. Tell me what you think. Happy reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Seraphina Madrid, Victor from District 7**

"Congratulations, Seraphina," President Snow says in his arrogant manner. He is still a young president. He will come to recognize the silent glare I give him. He will recognize it and realize what it means. But for now, he is clueless.

"Thank you," I reply softly.

He places the golden crown atop my head. I stand there while the Capitol crowd cheers and applauds my victory. I think they would have liked it better if I killed more tributes and split more blood. However, I am still a victor. They applaud my bravery and sacrifice.

This year's Hunger Games didn't satisfy the Capitol much. That's what Young J tells me.

"It was bloodless," he sighs, when the crowning ceremony is over and we are back on the train.

"I saw plenty of blood," I argue.

"I know. But the Capitol didn't. Most of the tributes that weren't killed by another died of cold or starvation. Normally, the Games are awfully full of blood and gore. You know that though."

I nod. "I guess death isn't enough for them. They need the poor kids' blood to show as proof that it isn't a big fake!" And with that, I storm out of the room.

The nightmares haunt me. It's not of killing, or of being killed. In my nightmares, I am lost in a snowstorm that never ceases. I see the dead ones: Thomas, Gideon, Oakley, Gaia, the Careers, and more. They fly above my head, just out of reach. They taunt me. They have angel's wings and I have nothing but crazy nightmares. I run and run but I always end up slipping on the ice and slamming my face into the ground. Then a sea lion breaks through the ice and tears me to shreds. All the while, the angels dance above my head, above the snowstorm, above the Earth.

It takes everything I have not to join them.

The district welcomes me home in open arms. Many mothers and fathers confront me when I get home. They tell me thank you. I ask them why.

"Because of you, my kids won't starve fer a whole year," one woman explain in her rough District 7 accent. "Them Capitol people be sendin' good food and water fer a year. I thank ye kindly, girl."

I bow my head in respect for them. At least I did the people of my district a favor. Something good came out of my winning the Games. I move into the Victor's Village. My only neighbor is Young J. He comes out to visit me on lonely days.

One day, he says, "You got to pick a talent, you know."

"I know. I don't know what to pick."

"I chose weaving leather goods. The Capitol people pay a high price for a leather pouch these days," Young J chuckles. "I usually give out the money to the poorer part of the district."

"How come I never got a share of your earnings, huh?" I say slyly.

Young J guffaws even louder. "Don't you try to guilt me, girl. I remember visiting you one day. You were just a small thing. Didn't say much. Just sucked on your thumb. I gave you a few spare coins. I knew that if I gave all of it to the orphanage director, none of it would go to you kids. So I gave a few coins to each kid."

"Thanks," I say, even though I don't remember any of that. It must have been before I came to the age of remembering.

"No problem," Young J shrugs it off. He sighs deeply and leans back on my couch. I watch as his eyes grow distant and then come back to reality. He turns to me with a certain twinkle in his eyes. "I got an idea. Why don't you play a musical instrument?"

I like music. It's very calming and happy, something I don't have much of in my life. I say yes to Young J, and in a week, I have a box of different instruments dumped on my doorstep.

I fail miserably at almost everything except for an old acoustic guitar. I enjoy strumming along to pretty tunes. I only learn three notes, but that's all you need to know according to Young J. He says his father was an accomplished musician.

"All he done know were three notes, same as you," Young J smiles in reminisce. "He loved coming home after a long day of cutting and sitting down with his guitar. He told me once that he would play music till the end of time if he could. I hope you find the magic in music like he did."

That is what inspired me to sit down and strum those six strings until my fingers bled. And even then I didn't stop. I played long lost songs of hope and love. When my fingers starting aching for rest, I keep on playing.

I find something special in music. It helps me break away from the real world for hours at a time. It creates a safe haven where I can feel happy and peaceful. The real world becomes far away. I don't go looking for it. I hold on to my dream world for as long as I can, playing my guitar until the wolves come out at night to howl at the moon.

In my dream world, I don't feel threatened. I don't feel the instinct to run. I don't feel the need to rebel against those who torture my people. I find magic. No one can touch me when I'm floating on air. I have searched and searched my whole life for something that I didn't even know I was looking for until I found it. It is that nearly perfect state of mind where you have no fears, no worries, and a sweet meadow of calmness and placidity rests.

Serenity.

**The End**


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